We All Say Goodbye Sometime
by WaitingOnYesterdaysNews
Summary: A one-shot between Jim Moriarty and Sebastian Moran set just before and after the incident at Reichenbach Falls.


Jim had been distant lately, more so that usual. His laughter was more high-pitched, manic, these days, and Sebastian couldn't understand what was poisoning the other's mind. What had him so frantic? So distressed? Asking was doing him no good, as each time he attempted to confront the other about his behaviour, Jim just smiled and laughed, often tacking on an "It's nothing to worry your handsome head over, love," to the end. The rest of whatever evening this occurred on would be spent pretending the comment had never been made.

Sebastian was beginning to grow restless with the lack of information. While a lesser hit-man might believe that this behaviour was stemming from his bosses desire to, say, off him, Sebastian had no such concerns. His aim had never been off. Jim had no reason to kill him. And, were that the issue, Jim would have finished the job ages ago, there would have been no reason for this odd behaviour. Regardless of their intimacy, both men were, at their centers, cold-blooded killers. Jim wouldn't hesitate to destroy him. So, seeing as it had no ties to him or something he had done wrong, something else had to be bothering Jim, something he felt he couldn't tell Sebastian. What could possibly be so bloody personal that he couldn't tell him? What could be so big that it had Jim falling off his rocker?

These days Jim refused to let Sebastian leave him for long periods of time. Jobs that would span over weeks were handed off to some other member of the organization. Any job that would take more than an hour to complete Jim barred Sebastian from taking part. More than once Sebastian had complained about the lack of interesting work, about how his shot was going to become off if he wasn't permitted to practice, but Jim would only make a sound of noncommittal, pour a drink and offer one to the put-out hit-man.

That's why Sebastian had been more than slightly surprised when Jim announced that Sebastian would be doing a job that would take him a week, at the minimum, to complete. While he knew he should be happy for the change, something in the back of his mind bothered him. Why was Jim finally sending him on such a job now? What had changed? If anything, Jim seemed more sporadic than he had been previously, it certainly didn't seem like a time for Sebastian to be deserting him.

"Send someone else."

"No."

The discourse had been short. The whole while, Jim's movements, instead of being calm and controlled, were quick, random. His gestures were rapid and obscure, likely matching the growing unrest in the man's mind. Nothing Sebastian said had managed to convince Jim that someone else should go in his place. He had, with a fury and desperation he hadn't thought he was capable of still feeling, shoved a few articles of clothing in his bag and started for the front door, intent on going out and getting his hands on the biggest weapons that he had access to. He would take his frustrations at Jim out on someone else. His hand was closed over the knob when the sharp 'Wait' rose from behind him. In a moment, Jim's arms had wound their way around his waist, and he could feel the other's cheek pressed against his shoulder blade through his shirt.

For a few moments there was no movement. Sebastian was certain that his heart had stopped beating, though he was only aware that he had been holding his breath when he was forced to inhale sharply when the other released him. He turned to face Jim, one brow raised. In this instant, Jim seemed the most composed that he had been in ages. He smiled simply, hands in the pockets of his trousers. "Goodbye, Colonel. Have a safe trip."

A week. A whole week went by without any sort of communication between himself and London. His job kept him incredibly busy, and so he was given no spare time to lift the telephone and give Jim a ring. In reality, Sebastian didn't think much of Jim while he was gone. If he kept his mind on the task, then he would be able to get home sooner. Jim couldn't do any real harm to himself in a week, the hit-man was sure. He had other people to protect him.

When he finally made it back to the flat, he unlocked the door and opened it, stepping inside. He was, admittedly, surprised by the fact that there were no lights on anywhere. Normally Jim would be up when he was returning from a job, waiting to see how well his hit-man had done, and then to ensure that no harm had come to his lover, his other, his worse half. He dropped his bag as he pushed the door closed, listening quietly. There was no sound of movement.

Frowning, he reached out to flick the light on in the hall, illuminating the hall and front room. Nothing. No Jim sleeping on the couch. In fact, the flat looked spotless. The blanket which he had thrown on the back of the couch when he left was now neatly folded, the dishes from dinner that had been on the coffee table had been whisked away. A feeling of unease started to worm its way into the other's mind. Normally when he came home there was something out of place, a mess here or there that Jim had left just so that he would need to clean it up. No, there was nothing.

Without taking his shoes off, Sebastian paused at the front closet to procure a gun which was tucked away in a holster, sewn inside one of his other jackets. He clicked the safety off as quickly as he could, and then made his way down the hall.

A quick sweep of the living area showed nothing of interest, and the bedroom was just as tidy, and also empty. The bathroom was clear, as were all of the closest. As he finally allowed himself to move into the kitchen, flicking the light on, his eyes fell on the petals of a wilting rose, the dying flower laid out over a crisp cream-coloured envelope with his name written on it in Jim's neat handwriting.

Instead of making a sharp jerk in the direction of panic, confusion was the main emotion that washed over the man. What was Jim leaving him a letter for? Setting the gun on the counter, Sebastian brushed the rose aside and picked up the envelope. He used his finger to pry the combination of spit and glue adhesive apart so he could get at the two pieces of paper, folded neatly inside.

Casting the now useless envelope aside, he unfolded the papers and leaned around the counter as he started to read.

_My most dear Sebastian,_

_By the time you read this, I will be dead. I wish that this wasn't the case, that I was writing this note to tell you to have dinner prepared for seven, but it certainly wouldn't be fair to delude either of us. Especially not you. I could not bear the thought of you sitting at the table, waiting for me to come home when I am aware that I never will. Do not waste your time coming looking for me, you are already too late – I have made my choice, and I have given my life to win this game. _

_The point of this letter is to inform you that I have left everything to you. There is no one else who deserves what I have to give. You have seen the way I run the corporation, you are aware of the plans that I had for the near-future – do as I did, complete the tasks we had discussed, and you will be set for the rest of your life. There is nothing to worry about. _

_Move on, Sebastian. That is the best thing that you can do now. I hope that you can forgive me for leaving you in such a manner. I simply could not have you getting in the way, have you attempting me to not do this. This is what I wanted. This is how things had to go._

_Never forget, darling, I loved you. Loved you more than I think you will ever be able to understand. I am certain you are more than aware as to what I have done. If you need a way to quell your rage at me, at the world, a way to deal with whatever pains you may be feeling now, ensure they die, Sebastian. If I do not finish them off, be sure to kill each and one of them. _

_All my love to you,_

_I'll see you in Hell,_

_-J.M_

Sebastian felt his knees weaken, and in a moment he was leaning heavily against the counter, unable to take his eyes off the paper. His throat felt dry, his heart felt as if it had been slammed deep into his stomach, the movement so fast that both organs were completely ruined. It didn't take too long for the page to blur, words swimming.

He was losing the ability to control his body. Sebastian slumped more heavily against the counter, something of a ragged gasp of breath leaving his throat as the paper he was holding slipped from his fingers and drifted toward the floor.

For the first time in his whole life, the hitman was aware that his hands were shaking.


End file.
